Three of Swords
by KayUndae
Summary: Three victims. Three suspects. Three secrets to uncover. Sophie Silverlock finds out Gotham has more to offer her than she could've hoped for, if only a murdered lover hadn't brought her here. The last thing she needs is to draw the attention of Gotham's infamous criminals...especially the self-proclaimed Master of Fear.


**This is a random idea I had in my head while thinking of a story for my end of term university assignment, so I thought I'd adapt it for a fanfic. Let me know what you think and if you'd like it continued.**

* * *

Sophie hated this part.

She glanced up at Mr Porter quickly. His expensive suit was really ill-fitting for his portly physique, but surprisingly the lack of botox showed he had accepted his wrinkles of age. That was a pretty strange sight. Sophie mentally kicked herself as she focused again on the task at hand.

"She misses you a lot, but she's happy."

Well, that was a lie.

Sophie was very aware that that _wasn't_ what Mrs Porter had said. What she had _really_ said, was that she hoped he fell from his stupid ladder one day and break his neck. However, she was sure Mr Porter wouldn't want to hear that from his childhood sweetheart.

The old man's face shrivelled as a smile sprang onto it. "Oh that's good to hear! She was never truly happy alive, you see."

Sophie forced her own smile as her ears filled with deafening screeching. "Well she's found peace now."

As Mr Porter handed over the fifty bucks fee, a rather large bookcase miraculously decided to fling itself onto the floor. Sophie swore a book narrowly missed the back of Mr Porter's head, Mr Porter in turn flinching almost on instinct as the book landed at his feet. He chuckled nervously, thanked her and swiftly left. Sophie pocketed the fifty bucks just as Kathy stormed towards her, the elderly woman's lanky frame as fragile as the books surrounding them.

"I know you enjoy your theatrics, I get it entertains the customers, but the _whole_ bookcase? Really?"

Sophie bowed her head sheepishly. "Sorry, I'll put it back before I finish tonight."

"You'd better. You're lucky I let you do this psychic crap here at all," she huffed.

"I know...I know."

Kathy shook her head and walked away. Sophie wished Mrs Porter would do the same but apparently she was still quite angry with her. Her grey ethereal form was currently doing laps around the old chandelier, its crystals long since lost, and was still screeching gutterly. Sophie gritted her teeth. The sound was _awful_. Luckily, most spirits eventually would get bored and leave, if they even showed up at all. Mr Porter was lucky in that respect, clearly Mrs Porter hated him enough to even come.

That's the problem with being a genuine psychic, most clients don't really want to hear what their departed loved ones have to say, nor what the future truly holds for them. So you learn. You learn to play the game like the fakes and the con-artists. It's a business that will always have someone willing to pay.

She effortlessly put the bookcase back in its natural place, the disturbed dust sighing. An icy sharpness hit her spine. Everything became muffled as her own heartbeat filled her ears. She couldn't breathe. Her fingers tightened around the wood of the bookcase. Everything was spinning. She could almost feel razor-sharp rain against her cheeks-

"Sophie!"

Her head snapped towards Kathy. She hadn't even realised her wrinkled hands were gripping her shoulders. Her eyes lost their cloudiness almost instantly. "Something's...wrong," Sophie murmured.

"What's wrong? You look paler than normal."

"It was like a vision, but I wasn't witnessing something. _I _was part of it."

Kathy's face lost some of its empathy. "Sophie, you know I don't believe in this stuff. You couldn't even get my husband's nickname right."

"That's because he refused to tell me," Sophie spoke bluntly. She ignored Kathy's hurt expression. "I think I need to go home."

"I think it's best if you did."

Sophie knew what that meant. She had crossed the line again. She would have to find somewhere else to house her clients, again. She'd been too truthful, again. Still, she always managed to find a place eventually, it was Los Angeles after all.

She shook herself free from the vision and shoved her things into a tattered bag. She forced herself to leave with a last apology to Kathy. The old lady had put up with a lot of her shenanigans for the last four months, she felt awful that she would be leaving her with an abusive, hateful ex-porn star. Though hopefully Mrs Porter would grow tired and find that even Hell was more entertaining than a rundown bookstore.

* * *

She'd just managed to reach her apartment building before the rain got heavier. She leaned against the metallic staircase banister as she felt a throbbing pain stab her forehead again, they'd been happening ever since that strange vision.

"What schmucks did you con this time?"

Sophie groaned internally. She really couldn't deal with _him_ today.

"Frankie, with all due respects, fuck off."

"Hey! That's no way to talk to your favourite neighbour," Frankie said, a dark grin crossing his scarred face.

It wasn't hard to believe that Frankie 'Great White' Russo would manage to refuse even Azazel trying to drag him to Hell. He may have been an evil drugged-up bastard when he was alive, but being dead had clearly wisened him up. His ethereal form was darker than Mrs Porter, quite a contradiction to his namesake, but his slashed features were still recognisable. She'd never thought to ask about the scars, then again, with his line of work it was just an occupational hazard.

"I wouldn't exactly call a dead mobster a neighbour."

"And there was me considerin' you a friend."

"What do you want?"

Frankie dramatically gasped, his dark hands snapping to where his heart should be. "You'd dare accuse me-"

"Enough bullshit, I've got a headache so spill."

His demeanor suddenly changed, he seemed to tense up and even seemed...nervous? His hand slithered its way behind his back. "Well, I kinda heard through the spiritual grapevine that, uh, Hell is gettin' pretty tired of me staying above, y'know?"

"Oh Frankie," Sophie spoke gleefully, "you know I can't do anything about that."

"No, no, come on! I thought that considerin' you're, y'know, that you could give 'em a good word and convince them to leave me be."

Sophie shook her head. There really wasn't anything she could do and even _if_ she could, no way would she waste that power on Frankie fucking Russo. "Sorry Frankie but everyone's got their time, _y'know_."

"You're an evil bitch, you know that?"

"Family trait unfortunately."

Frankie scuttled off to sulk in a corner somewhere, good riddance really, Sophie didn't want to deal with even the idea of her family. That would make anyone's headache worse. She dragged herself up the three storeys and into her one-room apartment. She was almost in ecstasy when she finally fell onto her bed. She pushed herself to lean against the backboard and stared at herself in her dresser mirror. The glass had cracked a little, her distorted face still visibly paler than snow, her hair an impossibly light blonde, and there was no mistaking the too bright green eyes she had inherited from her daddy dearest. A brief thought of where he was came and left her mind. What she really needed was sleep.

She flinched as her phone began to violently vibrate in her pocket. An unknown caller. Strange.

She answered it cautiously. "Hello?"

"_Is this Miss Sophie Silverlock_?"

She winced at her own name. "Uh, yeah?"

"_Have you been in contact with Miss Winona Sparks in the last four months_?"

Sophie felt a tightness press on her chest. "No," she answered coldy, "I haven't spoken to her in over six months. Who is this?"

"_My name is Harvey Bullock, I'm a police detective at Gotham City Police Department. I think it would be in your interest to travel here, the GCPD don't mind paying for the flight_."

"That's nearly a five-hour flight. What the hell is going on?"

This Harvey Bullock paused for a long time. He was never very good at this sort of thing, Jim had always known what to say in these situations but he was busy sorting out another Batman and supervillain mess.

"_Miss Sparks...has unfortunately, uh, I'm sorry, but she was found dead a few hours ago_."

Sophie heard his words, but they were somehow far away, almost as far away as Gotham itself. Her fingers tightened around the phone, a tiny patch of ice slithering from her fingertips.

"Who did it."

"_I'm sorry_?"

"Who killed her."

"_I...don't think I said she was murdered. Miss Silverlock I-_"

"How quickly can you send me the money for the flight? The sooner the better."

* * *

**There will be more DC characters in the next part, I felt it best to establish Sophie's character before she goes to Gotham.  
**

**Hopefully you enjoyed it!**


End file.
